


Honor Among Thieves

by fallenangel8794



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-16 12:55:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallenangel8794/pseuds/fallenangel8794
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which she was a thief before she was named Dragonborn. A tale of love, loss and leaving between the members of the Guild, centered around Brynjolf and his protégé.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Watching You

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and thank you for deciding to check this out! It is part of a series and larger story that I'm co-writing with a dear friend and decided to post my bit early, because I'm impatient and would love to know what you think of it. When the other author posts, I'll change the info to include the rest of the story. This character is mine and I will be the only one to write her, but other characters will be covered by my partner in a very cannonish take on the storyline. So enjoy the trip inside my little Skyrim based world, and don't hesitate to share your thoughts! P.S. Sorry for the long note ;)

He watched her tie her hair back and adjust her armor, just like he’d done many times before. She flashed him a warm smile over her shoulder, waved and disappeared from the room without a word. He was in a bad way, hooked on the sweet little thing when he didn’t even know her name. She came and went as she pleased, but always bringing expensive trinkets that would send the world above into fits of chaos when they were found missing. Brynjolf smiled fondly as he thought of his Siren. He had taken to calling her that since she had yet to share her name. With a sigh, he pulled himself from the warmth of the bed and began to dress. He could still smell her and knew he would for many days, that sweet sage and honey spice that was only hers. Brynjolf still remembered smelling it the first time he met her in that dingy little hovel. Wasn’t the best meeting, perhaps, but what should one expect from thieves? By the time she left today, it was the longest she had stayed with him and he had rarely been out of his room in the three days she joined him. Pausing in his routine, he had to laugh at perks of being high up on the proverbial food chain. He doubted this would have worked out as well if he was still sleeping in the common area. As it was, he would venture out for food and wine while she was there and once or twice when she had dragged him to the shower late at night. He was sure someone would say something about it. Strapping his belt into place, he made his way out to the Ragged Flagon and his livelihood, known as the Thieves Guild.  
She slipped away from him as she had taken to doing as of late, with a smile and wave before melting into the shadows of his underworld society of thieves. He had talked with her about joining the guild and in the month since he had first brokered the topic, she thought about it frequently. It would be great fun and it would be nice to have some extra money, a steady place to sleep and eat. But she would be confined by those bothersome rules. How she hated rules. Causing chaos was her favorite thing to do and, consequently, swapping people’s valuables for, say, rocks or strings of cheese while they were out on the town made for quite a show. All the better when said valuables ended up with a rival or former friend. Emphasis on the ‘former’. Every now and again, when she found really valuable pieces, she would return them to Brynjolf and share his company. It used to be just a night here and there, stolen moments of solidarity in her ‘go where the wind takes me’ lifestyle. Lately, she had stayed two or three nights, staying to say goodbye before leaving. In the beginning, she would sneak into his bed and wake him up with soft touches and then be gone before he woke again in the morning. She was finding it harder and harder to leave him and caught her mind drifting back to him at the most inopportune times, which was a large part of her reasons for wanting to join his band of merry men.  
Peering down at her lover now, she smiled. He was a natural leader and took the flak people were giving him quite well. Brynjolf was easy to spot in the crowd, being a big man for as good of a thief as he was. His red hair was almost as long as hers, but not as vivid, and his hazel eyes were bright with intelligence. She shifted along the ledge of the tavern wall to follow him for a short distance before slipping through a crack and leaving him to his business. It really was pathetic that a band of thieves like these didn’t notice her sneaking about. Ah, well. Not my problem. She made her way through the Ratways with a skill the spoke volumes of the frequency of her visits. Slipping past a thug muttering angrily about vermin, her mind drifted back to the first time she had made this trek. She had been disgusted and more than a little put off. He had talked up the Guild to be an underground city of gold, when it was more like a nest of sewer rats with beer. But, she kept coming back and over the year she’d been sharing his bed, she had come to think of the Guild as her home.  
Brynjolf didn’t know that she would watch him after she left his bed in the morning. When she decided she had indulged in his company long enough, she would slip away. And whether he woke up still wrapped in her or alone, she would wait for him to emerge and watch him go about his life away from her. He never mentioned her to anyone else, not out of shame, but because he wasn’t entirely sure what to say. That she would steal into his bed whenever she pleased and leave when she felt was necessary? That he didn’t know her name? They would think him a fool. Or crazy. And crazy he was for the little red haired lass that decided he was worth her time.  
“Brynjolf, can I have a minute?”  
“Of course, Delvin. Let’s go in here,” Brynjolf motioned to the small dock offset from the main sitting area of the Flagon. They sat across from one and another at the table and he motioned for Delvin to speak.  
“Who is she?”  
“Who?”  
“Whoever is sharing your bed.”  
“Who said anyone is sharing my bed?”  
“Come on, Brynjolf. You would have to be dying to stay confined that long alone. And, you don’t drink wine.”  
He laughed, “Fair enough. She’s a fine little lass. Best thief I’ve seen in a long while. She can get in and out of anywhere without ever being seen.”  
“That so?”  
“You haven’t seen her, have you?”  
Delvin shrugged, “How do I know?”  
“Trust me, you would know.”  
“She gonna join the Guild?”  
Brynjolf shrugged, “She hasn’t said yet, but I’ve extended an invite. We could sure use her.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice.”  
The two men fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts.


	2. A Fight That Won't Die

“You haven’t been around, Caldor.”  
“Been busy.”  
She grabbed the older man by the arm and spun him to face her, “Are you drunk again?”  
He chuckled darkly, “Worried about something?”  
“Yeah, you.”  
“Hey now, don’t worry about me. I’m just fine,” Caldor stumbled into the wall.  
“Clearly, you’re stone cold sober and I’m not getting tipsy smelling your breath.”  
He turned his head to give her an unfocused glare and took another swig from the bottle in his hand. She pursed her lips and tried to think of something to say to get through to him. He slipped farther and farther away from her every time she saw him. She finally shook her head and turned to look out the window.   
“You were supposed to be there for me.”  
“Says Skyrim’s number one thief. You never needed me.”  
“Because it was always my life’s dream to rob people. It’s your fault-”  
He spun her and smashed his fist into the side of her face. She slowly turned her head back to him and licked her bloodied lips. He scowled down at her and turned back to the desk. She glowered at his back and left his room in a huff, slamming the door behind her. The people in the lobby of the inn stared as she passed them and she pretended not to notice. Out on the streets of Riften, she wandered late into the night. When it started to rain, she stopped to lean over the railing and finally let the pent up tears fall. To the few night owls wandering past, she looked lost in thought, the rain streaking her face and hiding the tears.   
She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, only that she started to ache with cold. She took a deep, steadying breadth and pushed away from the railing. Head held high, she started walking. She didn’t walk far before there was a gentle hand on her shoulder.  
“What’s eating you lass?”  
“Eh, you know. Fleas, ticks, leeches. The usual.”  
Brynjolf chuckled, “Why don’t we get you out of the rain? You’re soaked through.”  
She pressed closer to his solid frame, “Didn’t I just leave? I think you’ll be out of job if you spend all day in bed again.”  
“Mmm, might be worth it, lass.”  
She gave an empty laugh and pulled away from him. He caught her chin and angled her face back up.   
He frowned, “Now what happened here?”  
She probed her split lip with her tongue. “Got in a fight with the rain. I can’t tell who won. It may have left a mark, but one look from me and it hit the ground.”  
He ran his thumb gently across the forming bruise and she looked away. He knew her well enough to know not to push it right now.  
“Alright, lass. Let’s go get you dried off.”  
“I thought you liked me all wet.  
He barked out a laugh and motioned her toward the back entrance to the Guild. He slowed so she was a pace or two ahead of him and he took the time to take stock of her appearance. She was average height and just that side of too skinny under the slight bulk of her leather armor. Her flaming red hair was still tied back and dripping from the time she spent in the rain. It was really the only extraordinary thing one would notice at first glance. Her eyes were an ashy blue with just enough color to set them apart from grey. She was just a mite paler then usual and seemed weary to him tonight, the kind of weary that comes from a long lost fight that just won’t die. The only outstanding injury seemed to be the bruise on her cheek, though he planned on doing a very thorough check when they got to a more private place.  
It was the rare time of night where not a soul was around the Ragged Flagon, everyone off trying their luck on a heist or tucked into bed. Brynjolf built up the fire and pulled a dry set of Guild armor from storage. She stripped her wet clothing off and left it in a heap on the floor, completely unconcerned about being naked with other sleeping Guild members scattered around. Instead of getting dressed again, she pulled the blanket off an unoccupied bed and wrapped herself in it before settling into a chair by the fire. He passed her a mug of something hot and she smiled appreciatively.   
Brynjolf took the seat next to her and rested his elbows on his knees. “So, are you going to tell me how you really got that mark on your face?”  
“Why? It doesn’t really matter. It happens from time to time. I cause worse problems than this for fun.”  
Brynjolf sighed heavily, “I know, lass. I’m just not used to finding you out in the rain with a fresh bruise.”  
“Heh, not in my usual habits, no. Getting a bruise of any sort means I’ve been seen, and that rarely happens. Rain is rain and I happen to like it. The fact that you don’t find me in the rain is more typical than you think,” she grinned from behind her mug.  
“Do you ever take anything seriously?”  
“Now, where would the fun be if I did that?”  
He shook his head at her. The woman really could drive him mad if she had half a mind to and he was a little shocked she hadn’t yet. Dropping the issue for the night, he asked, “Warming up?”  
“A little. But I’m still not nearly as warm as I’d like.” She gave him a heated once over and a sultry smile. Brynjolf stood and moved to her, gently pushing the blanket off her shoulders and pulling her to him.   
“Perhaps I can help with that, lass.”  
She set the empty mug on the chair and tossed the blanket back on the bed, “What are you waiting for, then?”  
He wasted no time in commencing his check for other injuries while his hands roamed the familiar curves of her figure. Who needs sleep anyway?


	3. Joining Them

“So, this is the Guild armor?”  
“Aye, lass.”  
“Hmm, I like it.”  
Brynjolf watched her slide the armor on and adjust it until it fit comfortably. She did a slow turn and smiled at him from beneath the hood. He nodded approvingly and she put her hands on hips.  
“So, I can still come and go as I please and cause as much trouble as I want as long as I advance the interests of the Guild?”  
He pushed off the wall he had been leaning against and rested a hand on her shoulder, “Aye, that’s what I can do for you.”  
“And I have a bed, food and a nice little shop to sell anything and everything I manage to find?”  
“That’s right.”  
She pretended to think about her options and he watched her with an amused smirk. She gave a theatrical sigh, “Oh, alright. Fine. I’ll join.”  
“Well then, let’s introduce the rest of the Guild.” He hesitated by the door and she raised an eyebrow. “You know I don’t know your name.”  
“I know.”  
“What would you have me say then?”  
“What do you call me when I’m not around?”  
He rubbed the back of his neck, “Siren.”  
She laughed, “Go with that, then.”  
Brynjolf pushed her hood back and kissed her forehead. Siren smiled up at him and shook out her red locks, letting them fall free and frame her face. He pushed the door open and led her out to the Ragged Flagon. Everyone did a double take when they saw her flaming hair.  
“This is Siren, our newest member. Play nice,” Brynjolf said. She gave a small bow and grinned at the room.   
“Hey, there.”  
“Make yourself comfortable, lass. I’ll be back in a bit.”  
Delvin sidled up next to the other man and chuckled, “I see what you mean.”  
Brynjolf grinned and nodded before slipping into the side room with Mercer Fray.   
............  
“Nice hair.”  
“Thanks. It’s great fun to kinda spike it like this,” Siren pulled her hair up and made it stick out, “and run through town yelling I’m on fire.”  
The small group around her laughed and someone thrust a tankard of ale at her. She raised it in thanks and took a long swig.  
“What in the world is this?” She coughed and set it down.  
“Ah, that is our very own bottom of the barrel swill. Drink up!” Cynric said.  
“I’d rather drink out of the cistern.”  
“That’s where it’s from!”  
“Just wonderful. Then I’ll go return it,” she pushed away from the table and dumped the contents of the tankard into the water. “I’ll be right back.” She pulled her hood back up and tucked her hair into it before disappearing from the crowd. After a few minutes, they shuffled around and moved apart, looking for her.  
“Where did she go?” Thrynn asked as his eyes roamed the room.  
“Looks like she’s as good as Brynjolf said she was.” Delvin muttered into his drink.  
.........  
Siren perched in a tree outside of the brewery and watched the comings and goings of the workers. Without a sound, she shimmied down and slipped in the door. She grabbed an apron off the wall and tied it around herself, hiding the most identifying features of her armor. She fell in line behind the others, picked up a barrel and set to work.   
Three barrels later, she left the apron on a chair and rolled them out the back door. Siren left them resting against the wall with the line of others waiting to be shipped and slipped off to procure a small cart.   
Back at the brewery, she loaded the mead onto the cart and, in the space left by her haul, placed three partially full barrels of the competitor’s brew that were taking up space in the cart. She smirked at her handiwork and left the scene with no one the wiser.   
..........  
“Where did Siren go? Mercer wants to see her.” Brynjolf asked no one in particular.  
“She ran off after drinking some ale.”  
“You lot gave her that? Now you’ve done it!”  
“Done what, Brynjolf?”  
“There you are, lass. Mercer wants to see you.”  
Siren scrunched up her nose in disgust, “I don’t like him. He gives me a bad feeling.”  
“Well, he’s the Guild Master and he has your next job.”  
“You say that like I’m supposed to care.”  
Brynjolf sighed and motioned her to the side room. She bumped her hip against his and stuck her tongue out at him as she passed.  
..........  
“This is a joke, right?”  
“It’s a low level job, lass.”  
“I could do this in my sleep! In fact, I think I have.” Siren folded her arms and pouted.   
Brynjolf laughed at the childish expression on her face and pulled her close, “So, let’s make it harder.”  
“Careful what you wish for,” she quipped as her eyes flitted lower before snapping back to his.  
“I’ll keep wishing for that, lass. As for the job, be back in, say, an hour?”  
“Done.”  
“Oh, and the rest out there say thanks for the mead.”  
She gave him a smile and a wave and disappeared around the corner.   
..........

Goldenglow Estate certainly did have its fair share of mercenaries. Thankfully, they were too busy looking for other heavily armed idiots and missed the thief sneaking around them. The job was simple: get in, rob the safe, burn a few beehives and split before she was seen. Child’s play, really. The hardest part was going to be getting the safe key off Aringoth while he was awake and having dinner with his guests. She could always pick the lock, but that was just no fun. She schooled her breathing and slid forward. If the men on either side of him turned their heads, she was done for. Holding her breath, she grabbed the key and escaped back into the shadows. Smirking, she hightailed out of the dining hall and into the basement. Key in hand, Siren made her way to the safe and relieved it of its bothersome contents. On the way out, she dropped the key into a pocket of the mercenary meant to be guarding the safe, who was catching his forty winks instead. Now, back into the sewer and out to the beehives and she was home free. And that was the easy part.


	4. All Work and No Play

“Fine, I have to admit you’re good, kid. But don’t get cocky.” Mercer said, giving the redhead an appraising once over.

“Kid? No one’s called me that since my parents died.”

Brynjolf shifted behind her. He never knew her parents had passed. Then again, he had never asked and it never had a reason to come up in conversation. The only mention she ever gave of her family was a brother she didn’t see often. She didn’t seem overly bothered by it, so he put it out of his mind for the time being.

“Maven Black-Briar has asked to see you. Why you is anyone’s guess, but don’t keep her waiting.”

“Right. Think she’s mad I stole a few barrels of her mead?”

“You did what?” Mercer snapped.

“I made sure they weren’t full,” Siren hiccupped and giggled, “I made _extra_ sure.”

Mercer huffed and rubbed his forehead, muttering something about damn upstarts and how they aren’t worth the trouble. Smirking, Siren followed Brynjolf out of the room.

“You didn’t.”

“I was tempted.”

“You’re going to get yourself in trouble, lass.”

She winked at him, “That’s what I have you for.”

“That’s not the only thing you have me for.”

“Maybe you should show me what else there is.”

Brynjolf brushed her hair from her face, “Don’t you have work to do?”

“You know what they say about all work and no play,” she replied even as she pulled her hood up.

“Aye that I do, lass.”

“I’m sure I can think of some way you can make it up to me.”

He laughed, “I’m sure you can.”

“Well, I guess I’m off. See you tonight?”

“Aye, I’ll meet you back here. I have a few things to do.”

“Bring me back something nice!” She waved and made her way to the exit.

Brynjolf shook his head as he stared after her. She really was something else.

.................... 

Siren had just finished ‘altering’ the mead and was making her way back to the tasting ceremony when a shadow caught her eye. She glanced up to the rafters and there was a blonde haired man watching her. Raising an eyebrow at him, she kept moving. She rounded the corner and stopped short. That’s a dead guy. She blinked rapidly while her mind processed what had happened. Furrowing her brow, she looked back to the rafters. The blonde haired man was gone. Well, isn’t this just peachy? An assassin. Siren sighed and weighed her options. She could scream and call for help, thereby stalling the tasting and jeopardizing her job, or she could back away and pretend like she didn’t see anything. Option two it is. She did an about-face and took a different route back to the ceremony. The rest of it went off without a hitch, so to speak. She kept her eyes open for any sign of her mysterious assassin, but of course he was nowhere to be found. Paperwork in hand, she returned to Mercer. He took little notice of her until he had deciphered the symbol on the promissory note she found in the brewery. While he busied himself with that, she slipped away to Delvin, gifting him with a beautiful Decanter she had found next to the note.  Not fining Brynjolf in the little city, Siren decided to look through the odd jobs lists and claimed a few before falling into bed.

Hours later, Brynjolf returned successful and worn. Leaving the haul on the desk, he filled a tankard with mead and rested against the bar. It wasn’t often a job exhausted him; most of what the Guild was doing being petty crimes compared to what they used to do. This one wasn’t hardly a step above, just required more work. Still, it felt good. He downed the rest of his drink and started his search for his red haired Siren. He found her sprawled on a bed in the corner, hair tousled and laying on her stomach hugging the pillow. Not bothering to suppress the smile, he marveled how wonderful it was to be able come home and find his lover. The improvement would be if she was actually in his bed, but that could create problems. Delvin knew and couldn’t care less as long as she helped the Guild, but others might not be so understanding.  He ruffled her hair gently and made his way to his own room, his heart light and pockets full.

 

Brynjolf woke slowly the next morning with the distinct feeling that something was off. He scrubbed his face with his hands and pushed himself out of bed, eyeing his room warily. On the bedside table, he found a sweet roll. He picked it up carefully, examining it for any indication of how it got there. It was then that he noticed the note underneath it. It read:

_B,_

_Got sent to Solitude. Left breakfast for you to make sure you got the note. Be back when I’m done. Behave while I’m gone._

_-S_

He chuckled and took a bite of the sweet roll. He stopped again to marvel at the difference now that he knew where she was and that she would, indeed, return to him. It put a bounce in his step and a smile on his face. When the little rascal had stolen his heart was anyone’s guess, but what else should he have expected from a master thief? Brynjolf finished his breakfast, got dressed and ventured out into the Flagon. Vex tossed him a small satchel when she saw him.

“Check out the score you’re new protégé brought in!” She called.

He opened the bag to find it full of flawless gems in every color, with some gold mixed in as well. “Where did she get all this?”

“Who knows? I sent her out on a heist and she came back with the mark and all of that. I don’t know where you found her, but she is exactly what we need. Just don’t tell her I said it.”

Brynjolf shook his head at the blonde haired woman and sat across from Delvin with a sigh. The other man raised his drink in acknowledgement.

“So where is the fireball today?” He asked when he set the tankard down.

“Off to Solitude.”

“She’s earning a lot of respect around here, ya know?”

“I know. The lass has talent, no denying it.”

“It’s more than that and you know it.”

“I wish I could say what it is about her that’s so grand,” Brynjolf replied thoughtfully.

“You got it bad, don’t you?” Delvin said, eying him from over his food.

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Brynjolf, can I have a word?”

He glanced at Mercer before nodding to Delvin and leaving the table. He followed the Guild Master over to his desk, “Need something, Mercer?”

“It’s about your new recruit.”

“Aye?”

“I’m questioning her reasons for joining us.”

“Has she done something?”

Mercer narrowed his eyes, “Not outright, no. I know she’s bringing in some coin but I can’t help the feeling that she’s holding out on us. You said she was a thief for years?”

“For at least ten, yeah.”

“Then where does her loyalty lie? A thief like her doesn’t go solo for that long.”

Brynjolf frowned. What was Mercer trying to say? “I’m sure she’s with us.”

“Just keep an eye on her.” With that, the Guild Master went back to his plans and left Brynjolf to wonder what had brought all this on.


	5. Where Her Loyalty Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited 8/20

On the long trek to Solitude, Siren stopped in Whiterun for a night or two. When she got a room at the Bannered Mare, she found none other than Caldor in a drunken stupor in front of the fire. She ran through her options. On one hand, she could leave him to his own devices as payback for punching her. On the other, she could tuck him into bed like a good little sister should and keep him out of trouble. Oh, damn it all. She heaved him up and drug his stumbling form to the room the innkeeper said was his. After dropping him none too gently on the bed—okay he ended up on the floor, but she really was aiming for the bed—she made her way to her own room and locked the door.

....................

Brynjolf had taken a shill job out in Whiterun. It was a simple money maker; plant phony evidence in a mark’s house and then send a tip to the town guard. He had taken a carriage from Riften the same day Mercer had voiced his misgivings about Siren. It provided a good opportunity to clear his head. He got there an hour before twilight, which gave him plenty of time to get a hot meal and a room prior to working. What he never expected to see was Siren being hauled out of the back door by her arm. Staying in the shadows, Brynjolf drew his dagger and watched.

“What are you doing here?” A tall, dark haired man threw her towards the wall of the building. Always nimble, Siren caught herself before she hit it and turned to glare at him. Her eyes were like ice, cold and unforgiving.

“Because I really have nothing better to do then follow you around. What I haven’t figured out is why you’re here, Caldor. The guards run you out of Riften, too?”

“So little faith. I left because I was feeling homesick.”

She snorted, “Right. You’re still a ways from home. Not that you really considered it that until it suited you.”

Caldor took a step toward her, “It was my home, too! It always was.”

“And you choose to drown in drink rather than remember it properly.”

He raised his hand to hit her and Brynjolf slid forward. Before he could do anything more, Siren grabbed his hand twisted it and threw him against the wall.

“I let you get in a lucky hit last time. I chose to let it go because you were drunk. You’re sober now and I will let them lock you up again. You really want to go back down that path?”

Caldor remained silent. After a minute, she seemed to accept it and released him. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small coin purse and tossed it at his feet.

“For your room, since I know you’ve spent yours on ale.” Without waiting for a reply, she turned a disappeared into the gathering shadows. Caldor stared after her for a long minute before picking up the purse and making his way back inside.

_Where does her loyalty lie?_

That thought haunted Brynjolf all the way back to Riften.

 ....................

Siren set off from Whiterun on foot, hoping a walk would help her clear her head. Dealing with her elder brother had that effect on her these days. It would be a long walk undoubtedly and she wished for the hundredth time in the last two months that she had a horse. The ones available to purchase were hardly worth the weight of the gold. She’d had her eye on Maven Black-Briar’s prized steed, Frost, but stealing a horse was a pain. It’s not like they were easy to hide and Frost was distinctive besides. Though she did have a crazy half formed plan in mind to ‘acquire’ him the next time she was bored. That wouldn’t be anytime soon with all the errands the Guild had her running, so the steed was safe for now. What would Brynjolf think of her plotting to steal the horse of the most powerful woman in Riften? Wait. Since when did anyone else’s opinion matter? She’d spent the last decade doing what she wanted because it’s what she wanted, paying no mind to what others thought of her actions. Now she was worrying about what the Nord would think of her harebrained scheme. He was ruining her. Smiling to herself, she realized that was just fine as far as she was concerned.

Siren adjusted her pack on her shoulders and hopped over some larger stones. She was walking next to the path, feeling more at home in the shadows than in the light. Whatever road she was on now wasn’t well traveled and she began to wonder if she took a wrong turn while her mind was wandering. She really didn’t have time to spare, lest she invoke Mercer’s wrath. That man set her teeth on edge and her hand itch for a weapon. Speaking of weapon, what’s this? Siren pulled a long steel sword out of a bush. It was recently used, with scratches from other weapons decorating the blade. Despite the damage it was obviously well taken care of and respected. So why had it been discarded? Curiosity getting the better of her, she moved through the brush to find the sword’s handler.

She found the man not far away in the middle of his scattered belongings. Whoever had tried to kill him had failed, as he was unconscious but breathing. He didn’t have many wounds, and the ones he did have would be nonlethal if they were treated soon. If the pile of dead bandits was any indication, he was a good fighter. One of them must have gotten him with a cheap shot to the back of his head before bleeding out or running.  Siren gently rolled him to his back and raised an eyebrow. He was much younger than she first thought, years her junior rather than her senior. His dark hair was matted to the side of his face from where he had fallen. Whatever he had of value was gone, or he never had anything, so he was little use to a thief. But she couldn’t just leave him there and she would not kill him. A sound to left caused her to palm two daggers. A dark brown horse stomped into view and she frowned. Damn thing nearly gave her a heart attack. But why was it here? It put its nose to the ground and nudged the young man. Ah, so it was his. Well, this would solve the horse problem for a while. Assuming the thing would let her near it. It danced away from her and huffed angrily when she got too close.

“Hey, calm down, I’m trying to help,” she said softly. It flared its nostrils, but stopped stomping. She watched the beast out of the corner of her eye while she gathered the scattered supplies. Siren was mildly surprised when it let her load its saddlebags with the salvageable goods. She bent to pull the young man up and the horse danced forward to stand between her and its rider. She rolled back just as its feet came down where she had been seconds before. “Easy, boy. Easy,” she said as she stood and held her hands up in a placating gesture. “Now that I know you’re male,” she rolled her eyes. “Look, if you want him somewhere safe, you need to accept my help. And I’m talking to a horse.”

He huffed indignantly and she raised an eyebrow at him. After a brief stare down, the horse took a step back and allowed Siren to haul the man up and throw him roughly over the saddle. His mount turned to glare at her and she shrugged, not at all apologetic. She swung herself up into the saddle behind the unconscious owner of the horse. She took a moment to lament the fact that she didn’t know his name and probably never would. There was something familiar about him, but she couldn’t put a finger on it and wasn’t able to spend any more time musing as the horse took off.


	6. Family Ties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited 8/20

“Hey, hey! I’m the human, you listen to me! Whiterun is the other way.” Sired grabbed the reigns tightly to avoid being thrown off. The horse kept going and Siren held on, muttering angrily under her breadth. When he finally slowed to a stop, they were coming up on a small homestead set into the land longer than some of the surrounding trees.

“’Ey, there!” An aging man called out, “We was wonderin when he’d find his rider. We watered him last we saw ‘im.”

Siren pulled her hood down and dismounted from the temperamental horse. “Oh, he’s not mine. I found his rider injured in the country and he insisted he come along.”

“Injured, ya say? My wife’s a healer. We’re happy to help.” The man hobbled over to her and helped her pull junior off the horse. Once they had him in a small spare bedroom, Mira, an older woman with bright green eyes ushered them out of the room and shut the door on their heels. Aven insisted she sit and have a meal with him before taking off again. She grudgingly agreed, already feeling out of place in the brightly lit home. She couldn’t justify stealing anything from the people offering help out of the kindness of their hearts. So instead, she fidgeted and did her best to dodge the questions he asked.

“What’s yer name, missy?”

“Anna.”

“Where ya from?”

“Winterhold.”

“Cold up there.”

Siren nodded and shoved a bite of fresh bread into her mouth. She prayed he wouldn’t think to ask anything she couldn’t answer with an easy lie.

“What are ya doing up in these parts? Don’t get many visitors.”

“Traveling for business.”

“Heading to Solitude, my guess.”

She nodded again.

“Been out here my whole life. Kids are grown now, off makin names for themselves. Nice to company for a bit.”

Mira reappeared and joined them at the table. “It was kind of you to help him, dear.”

Siren shrugged, “It didn’t sit right with me to leave him there.”

The older woman smiled and laid her hand over the younger one, “You have a good heart. You’re welcome here any time.”

The thief inclined her head and offered a smile in return. If only they knew.

“He’ll be fine after some rest.”

“Thanks for taking him in. Mind if I peek in on him before I head out?”

“Go on ahead, dear.”

Siren excused herself from the table and jogged back to his room. She slipped in the door and sidled up to the bed, intent on memorizing his face. Even if he didn’t know it, he owed her a debt that she would collect on, when next she saw him. If she did. Skyrim was a big place and it wasn’t like they ran in the same circles. Even so, it never hurt to remember him. Her eyes traced increasingly familiar features and she suddenly saw a much younger version of the man in a house long since gone. She clamped her hand down over her mouth and backed up to the chair next to the bed. Collapsing heavily into it, she squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. This man was someone she thought she wouldn’t ever see again, the older or younger version. It was a blast from her past that she was not prepared for and everything in her screamed to shake him awake and make him tell her she was wrong. But she knew in the deepest part of her, where she kept her past hidden, that it was _him_ and that he wouldn’t remember her beyond a blur and familial resemblance. Pulling her now shaking body from the chair, she dropped a bag of gold into one of his boots and left the room. She thanked Aven and Mira again, leaving a payment on the table when they weren’t looking and took off at a dead run as soon as she was out of sight.

....................

Solitude always looked like it was prepping for a party with all the colored flags strung over the walkways. What would they do if I cut them off and made a dress out of them? A plan for another time, perhaps. For now, she was shadowing Gulum-Ei and it was so very boring. Nearly as boring as stealing the Firebrand wine from the Blue Palace. She’d swiped a much bigger haul from the Palace a few years back. She smiled fondly at the memory. If she hadn’t been honor bound to return it, it would be a lovely souvenir from her wild days. Refocusing on the task at hand, she dodged through the city gate behind her mark. They passed a pair of guards outside the walls and she lifted the sword off of one and slipped it into the belt of the other. Their shouts could be heard a fair distance away. Once in the warehouse, it took all her concentration to get the mercenaries to kill each other and not see her. Ah, and what’s this? A map of EETC trade routes? Delvin might like that.  A shifting shadow caught her eye. She glanced to her left and saw the mysterious blonde haired man. She was closer to him now and was surprised to see dark eyes, instead of light to match his hair, staring back. He put his finger to his lips, demanding her silence, before slitting the throat of another nameless man. He bowed his head for a moment. When he looked back up to her, he smirked, nodded and left. Well, he’s not creepy at all.

After Siren finished her ‘discussion’ with Gulum-Ei, she made her way back out to Solitude and the carriage, her mind full of questions. Who was Karliah and what was her issue with Mercer? Who in the bloody hell was the blonde haired assassin? What was Caldor really doing in Whiterun? And she staunchly refused to think of the man she left at that farm. As her thoughts ran circles in her head, she started eavesdropping on the conversation happening between other patrons of the carriage.

“Did you hear about that poor family?” The man asked.

“The one burned alive inside their house? What an awful way to go!” The woman answered.

“The guards say it’s the eighth one this year. The fifteenth in the last two.”

“All done by the same person, too, I hear. Been at it for over ten years now, they say. What monster could do such a thing? I hope he lights himself on fire.”

“Are you sure it’s a man?”

“Well, it certainly couldn’t be a woman!”

And, now I’m bored. Siren traced the ring her mother had given her all those years ago. She smiled faintly at the memory. 

_“But why does Caldor get daddy’s necklace? It’s not fair!”_

_“Because you get mommy’s ring.” Her mother slid the silver band off her finger and onto her nine-year-old daughter’s. The little girl’s eyes lit up as she moved the ruby around in the light. “You have to take care of it. Don’t ever lose it.”_

_“I won’t. I promise.”_

It was well worn now, scuffed and scratched. But the ruby had yet to fall out and she made sure she kept it in fairly good repair. Four years after she had gotten it, her mother had it enchanted with the fire protection charm, to match to the red gem and her red hair. Thinking of that made her heart ache. It was the same year their own house was burned down. Neither she nor Caldor had been home that night, by some stroke of luck, but her parents hadn’t been so lucky. What an awful way to go, indeed.

Siren thought about stopping off again in Whiterun and decided against it, on the chance her lovely brother was still there. She went straight through to Riften and back to the Guild, hoping to see Brynjolf for some much needed comfort. First things first, she told Mercer what she had learned. That sent him into a tizzy and he whisked her off to Snow Veil Sanctum to find this mysterious Karliah. She barely had time to catch her breath, let alone seek soleus in the arms of her lover, wherever he had gotten off to. On the way to the Sanctum, she learned that Karliah had murdered the former Guild Master in cold blood and had attempted to kill Mercer. Instead of giving an outright response, she gave a grunt, acknowledging she heard him, but not agreeing. The whole thing didn’t sit right with her. 

 

Brynjolf was in a foul mood after four heists ending poorly throughout the Guild. Usually Mercer dealt with it, but he was nowhere to be found, so that made it his problem. After shooing the last petty thief away, he sought out a drink and Siren. Instead, he found Delvin.

“Looking for your girl?”

“I am,” Brynjolf replied wearily.

“You’ll be waiting a bit. She and Mercer took off as soon as she was back from Solitude.”

Brynjolf suppressed a groan, “Where did they go?”

“Didn’t say. But Vex heard him mention Karliah.”

His head snapped up, “What?”

“Yeah, Mercer was pretty pissed. Something Siren found set it off.”

“I feel for her, dealing with a wound up Mercer by herself.”

Delvin chucked, “I’m sure she can handle it.”

Normally, Brynjolf wouldn’t hesitate to agree. But what he’d seen in Whiterun was still weighing heavily on his mind. He had checked with his contacts and no one had ever heard of Caldor, or a freelance thief matching her description. All he got was disjointed information about the Thief With a Thousand Names. This pickpocket was near legend throughout Skyrim. A thousand different high-profile robberies all committed by the same person. The only link between all of them was a Nightshade flower and a note with a different name left every time. No one could ever have claimed to see him and they were still waiting for him to strike again. The Guild could use a thief like that, Brynjolf mused as he nursed his drink. Delvin was going on about the curse he was convinced had befallen the Guild and the other man was content to let him ramble. His thoughts kept returning to Siren and what Mercer had said about her.

 

A poisoned arrow to the chest. Not the way I ever thought I would go.

Mercer and Karliah were going back and forth while Siren struggled to make sense of it all. Mercer killed Gallus, not Karliah. Mercer was stealing from the Guild and had done something else that she couldn’t quite understand. What in all of Skyrim were the ‘Nightingales’ and what had he done to piss them off? That is one question she would get answered if it was the last thing she did. It finally occurred to her that this was really slow poison if she was still alive. It couldn’t be deadly, it had to paralytic. Otherwise, she would have checked out long ago and Mercer’s secret would have gone with her.

Looks like it still might. Mercer appeared above her and, with a final taunting statement, thrust his blade into her chest. Everything faded painfully to black.

 ...................

Head pounding.

Chest throbbing.

Stomach churning.

Did I get drunk last night?

 

“Don’t stand up too quickly, now,” Karliah said.

“What? Wait. You shot me!”

“Yes, and it quite possibly saved your life. The poison I used was only crafted to paralyze. It took a year for me to perfect and I only had enough for one shot. It was meant for Mercer.”

“My apologies. Next time I’ll duck,” Siren rolled her eyes.

The conversation continued in the easy back and forth of two people betrayed by the same person. In the end, Karliah gave Siren Gallus’ journal and they were off on their separate paths. Siren traveled slower than usual, still recovering from the poison and blood loss, since a healing potion could only do so much. Lack of sleep probably wasn’t helping either, come to think of it. Maybe she would rent a bed while Enthir figured out what was written in the journal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is as least somewhat entertaining. This is my first skyrim fic, so I do hope it's ok!


	7. Robbed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited 8/20

Brynjolf sat with his legs dangling over the water of the cistern, watching it ebb and flow. Mercer had returned alone, spinning a tale of treachery before leaving again, muttering something about seeing a contact. According to him, Siren and Karliah were long time business partners set on destroying the Guild. Their latest deal had gone south, sparking a deadly argument that left Siren with a poisoned arrow in her chest and Mercer barely escaping with his life. What didn’t add up was how the two women ever would have met, or ended up in a no holds barred fight. Karliah had gone to ground after she killed Gallus and none had been able to find her. And Siren was quick as a whip. She would have caught on to any less than desirable plans and Brynjolf knew her well enough to know betrayal wasn’t her style. Besides that, she took an arrow to the chest. The lass was more agile on her feet than anyone he’d met. Karliah wouldn’t have been able to make that shot, unless she caught her unawares. He had half a mind to make Mercer retell the tale, in an effort to make it make sense. It was far-fetched, no doubt, but why would Mercer lie about it? What would he gain? Brynjolf was young when Gallus was killed, so he couldn't fully comprehend the situation, but like everyone else, he had an innate disliking of Karliah. Her crimes were well known and she was blamed for the Guild’s decline, having killed the best Guild Master they’d had in recent history. It was easy to think of her in a bad light. But not his Siren. His heart constricted painfully when he thought of her. If she did take a poisoned arrow to the chest, she was as good as dead. Unless, the little voice in the back of his head whispered, it was only a paralytic poison, or nonlethal toxin. There could still be hope. Hope for what? That she was still a traitor? Brynjolf pinched the bridge of his nose. The whole thing was making his head spin.

“I know this ain’t a good time, but we have a problem.”

Brynjolf looked over his shoulder at Delvin, “What?”

“Some of ‘em think they’re seeing Karliah in the Flagon.”

“Well, Mercer isn’t here. What does she want?”

“Hard to say.”

Vex came sliding around the corner, “Siren’s back.”

 ..................

No rest for the wicked. Siren had gone spelunking in a dwarven ruin way out under, yes under, Markarth for a rubbing so they could translate that damn journal and had taken off for Riften as soon as that was done. Karliah said they would rendezvous in the Flagon and had set off on her own way. Siren had tried to sleep on the carriage, but it jostled too much and aggravated the permeating stiffness lingering from being stabbed in the chest. She gave up in favor of messing with the others riding with her and got quite the show when all their gold ended up in one man’s shoe, which had been removed from his foot and left under the dress of another woman. It had all worked out in the end with no one dying or getting arrested. Siren jogged to the Guild, soreness and exhaustion forgotten for the moment. She met Karliah just outside the Flagon and together, they made their way to the cistern.

Brynjolf schooled his emotions when the door creaked open. He, Delvin and Vex all held their weapons poised at whoever was coming through it. Sure enough, Siren and Karliah stalked into the cistern. Siren looked like she was about to fall over. Her face was drawn and pale, her lips pulled into a tight line. She had dark circles under her eyes, which held a hard edge that made him cringe. Her armor was destroyed, with a large whole in the cuirass that was much too big to be caused by an arrow. She took a place in front of Karliah. Her message was clear: go through her to get to the elf.

Before he could stop himself, Brynjolf bit out, “What are you doing here with that murderer?”

Siren didn’t say a word, only stared him down with the same hard edge in her tired eyes. Instead, it was Karliah that spoke and Siren shifted just enough to let her be seen. When she stepped forward to hand off Gallus’ journal, Brynjolf spared one more desperate glance at the red head before reading the book. His face shifted into a look of disbelief, then anger.

“This can’t be true. I’ve known Mercer too long.”

“I assure you it is, Brynjolf.” Karliah replied evenly.

“Delvin, go unlock the vault.”

“What’s that book say?”

“Mercer has been stealing from the Guild.”

Weapons sheathed for now, the group made their way to the vault.

“How could Mercer rob the vault with only one key? It needs two to open. Could he have picked it?” Delvin asked as he stepped forward.

“That door has the best lock money can buy. I doubt it.” Vex answered.

Delvin used his key and remarked, “Done. It’s still locked up tight as ever.”

Brynjolf nodded and stepped forward to use his key and the door opened to an empty room. Much cursing and shouting later, Vex and Delvin were sent to watch for Mercer, Karliah was loitering around the Flagon and Brynjolf had pulled Siren into his room. He removed her ruined armor and examined her carefully. Across her chest was a set of scars that hadn’t been there the last time he had seen her this bare.

“What happened lass?” He asked softly.

“Mercer tried to kill me,” she answered flatly.

He gently traced the small mark left by the arrow, “That’s not from Mercer.”

“No, Karliah shot me. I’m sure he told all about it.”

“Aye, but I want to hear the truth from you.”

She finally looked at him without the hard edge in her ashy blue eyes. Now, she just looked drop dead tired. With a sigh, she started, “Mercer and I went to Snow Veil Sanctum to find Karliah. I’ll spare you the details about fighting a small army of draugr. When we found her, she shot me with a poisoned arrow she had intended for Mercer. It was coated in a paralytic poison that slowed my heart enough that when he stabbed me, it didn’t kill me.”

Brynjolf gingerly traced the still raw scar that ran between her breasts. She winced, despite her best efforts to hide it. He gathered her into his arms and held her close, “I’m so sorry, lass.”

“You didn’t do it,” came her muffled reply from where she had tucked her face into his neck.

“I didn’t exactly welcome you home, either.”

Siren pulled away so she could look at him, “Honestly, I’m surprised we weren’t killed the minute we came in. I can only imagine the wonderful things Mercer had to say about us. Tell me, did he flatter my darker nature?”

The return of her joking mannerism made him breathe a sigh of relative relief. “He could have done better.”

“Then the man must die!”

He chuckled into her tangle of red hair, “Aye lass, he will, but it can wait until tomorrow.”

“Or the next day or next week. I feel like I could sleep till then.”

“When was the last time you slept?”

She bit her lip as she thought and then answered, “When I went to Whiterun.”

Feigning surprise, he asked, “When were you in Whiterun?”

“I stopped there for a couple days on my way to Solitude.”

“Any reason?”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, “To sleep? Why?”

He shook his head, “Something else Mercer said.”

Siren pulled fully away from him and folded her arms over her still sore chest, “Spill it.”

Brynjolf sighed, “In the morning, lass. It’s quite the tale.”

Knowing she couldn’t win, she relented, “Fine. But I won’t drop it.”

“I know. But you need to rest or that,” he pointed to the marks on her chest, “won’t ever heal.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

He kissed her forehead, “You can take this room tonight so no one disturbs you. Good night, lass.”

She grabbed his hand, “Stay. Please.”

Something about the way she said it combined with how vulnerable she looked sporting a nasty chest wound that her underclothes did nothing to hide made him say to hell the consequences. “Alright lass, I’ll stay.”

He stripped out of his armor and climbed under the blanket with her. It was odd to be cuddling like this without the preface of sex, or the promise of it happening. It wasn’t that neither of them wanted to, it just hadn’t happened as of yet, what with them always being in the heat of passion when she stopped by. She pressed close to him and rested her head on his chest and her leg over his. In turn, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and held her close. Siren was out before Brynjolf had fully settled in and he made sure not to disturb her as he moved. Her breath deepened and fell into a steady rhythm as she slipped deeper into sleep, rushing across his bare chest in a relaxing pattern. His mind brought to his focus how close he came to losing her. Mercer, divines damn him, had intended to murder her for nothing more than bearing witness to his past crimes. His hold on her unconsciously tightened and he forced those thoughts to the back of his mind for the time being. She was here, now, and that’s what mattered.

For the first time since he’d known her, Brynjolf woke first the next day. During the night, they had shifted so that his chest was pressed up against her back with his arm draped across her middle and with their fingers intertwined against her stomach. He pushed himself up on an elbow and looked down at her.  Her flaming hair was lose and falling in her face. Not wanting to disturb her, he gently brushed it away. She didn’t even flinch. Brynjolf smiled. It was rare to see Siren not hiding behind a smirk and sarcasm. Even the day her met her, she was as explosive as ever, seeming more like a front line solider than a thief. 

-1 year, 3 months ago-

Brynjolf crept silently through the door of the mark’s house. It was supposed to be locked, but it wasn’t and it opened without a sound. He didn’t think twice about it; some people assumed they were above being robbed, or below it, or came home after one too many pints and didn’t bother with the lock. It just made his job easier. Now if only…wait, what was that?

“One more step, I dare you.”

“How did you hear me?” He asked in disbelief. He was one of the best thieves in Skyrim. No one ever heard him.

“Easy,” a hooded figure stepped from the shadows brandishing a dagger far closer than he thought the person to be. “You concentrate so much on keeping these,” she slammed her heel into his toes, “quiet that you don’t notice how loud this,” she puffed a honey scented breadth in his face, “can be.”

Brynjolf scowled at her, “And who are you, lass?”

“Depends on who’s asking. I’ve gone by quite a few names in my time.”

He couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he was stopping to talk with this woman while he was on the job, not to mention while still standing at the business end of her dagger. “You’re in my way.”

“And you’re in mine. What’s your point?”

He rolled his eyes. She was infuriating him to no end. He couldn’t get a straight answer out of her for anything. “I’ll ask you nicely to remove yourself, lass.”

“Aw, a gentleman! And they say chivalry is dead.” Sliding the dagger back into the sleeve of her armor, she stood aside. “Oh, and check the bottom drawer of the wardrobe. I believe you’ll like it.”

“What are you…” but she was gone. Scratching his beard, Brynjolf did as she said and found a hidden stash of jewelry. Which begged the question, why did she leave it?


	8. Alter Ego

-Present-

“You gonna stare all day, or are you planning on painting a picture?”

Brynjolf chucked, “Well, good morning to you too, lass.”

“The only good thing is waking up with you,” she threw back, cracking her eyes open and grinning.

“I think that’s the most sincere thing you’ve ever said to me. You must be worse off than I thought. Let me check…” He flipped the blankets off and rolled her to her back, smiling down at her.

Siren smirked up at him and trailed her toes across his leg, making his eyes flutter. “See anything you like?”

“Aye, and something I don’t,” Brynjolf propped himself up on one elbow and traced the now purple scar on her chest, frowning.

“You really don’t like it? I was planning on giving Mercer a matching one. That way we could be scar buddies!” He chuffed and his frown deepened. She hooked her finger under his chin and angled his face back toward hers, “Hey, now. None of that, Bryn.”

He couldn’t completely stop the smile that twitched the corners of his mouth up. The only time she ever called him ‘Bryn’ was during their stolen moments of peace. “I’m sorry, lass. When I think of him trying to murder you it makes my blood boil.”

“Wasn’t there something you were supposed to tell me? Oh, right. How well he managed to flatter my dark side.” She said, steering the conversation away from that topic.

“You really want to know?”

“Why else would I ask?”

He sighed and rolled off of her, letting her sit up. As they dressed, he retold Mercer’s tale. She remained mostly quiet, giving a snide remark here and there, but not anything like her usual quips. When he reached the end, she looked at him thoughtfully.

“What, lass?”

“As riveting as that was, it doesn’t answer why you were so interested in why I was in Whiterun. Mercer never said anything about it, did he?” Brynjolf opened and closed his mouth, searching for something to say, but Siren, quick as ever, spoke again, “What did you see, Bryn?”

He unlatched the door to the room before asking, “Who is Caldor?”

She pinched her eyes closed and took a breath. “You saw that argument?”

“Aye.”

Nodding slowly, she looked up at him, “He’s-”

“No word on Mercer, yet. It’s like he up and disappeared. Am I interrupting something?” Cynric asked, poking his head around the door.

“Does he have a place he stays or someone who would know?” Siren asked, suddenly all business.

“Yes, lass, that’s it! His house was a gift from Maven Black-Briar.” Brynjolf hesitated. If there was anyone who had better than an ice wraith’s chance against a fire mage, it was Siren. But the man had tried to kill her. He didn’t know much about manners, but it seemed rude to ask a lady to break into the house of her murderer. He smirked. When would he get to say that again?

Siren squared her shoulders and her eyes hardened beneath her hood, “I’ll go.”

“Are you sure, lass? I don’t want to send you into that place, but you’re the best we’ve got.” His accented voice was tinged with concern.

“That and I’m dead.” She led the way out of the room and to the chest where she kept her spare gear.

“What?” He crossed his arms over his chest and watched her rifle through her things.

“Mercer thinks he killed me. I’ll be the last person he’ll expect to see raiding his cabinets.” She pulled a steel sword out of the chest and strapped it on. Brynjolf had only ever seen her use it once, when they were attacked by bandits on a trip to Nimalten City. That was also the only other time he had ever seen her carry it. When he had asked, she responded that a true thief has no need for a sword since they won’t get caught, but being prepared never hurt. Now, he eyed it warily.

“Be careful, lass.” He knew it was a pointless thing to say, but couldn’t stop himself. Seeing her carrying a sword wasn’t right. A dagger, sure, she never went anywhere without at least three hidden on her person, but a sword was for guards and soldiers not Skyrim’s best thief.

She checked the steel blade and looked back up to him, “You know me.”

“And you know why I say it,” he quipped.

“Ah, you’re learning!”

The best he could muster was a small, halfhearted smile. “I hate sending you in there.”

Siren patted his arm and grinned. “I’ll be back in no time. Don’t worry.”

Brynjolf sighed as she moved away from him and toward Vex to ask her about Vald, Mercer’s hired muscle. When the conversation came to an end, she nodded to the other woman and took her leave, the sword still hanging ominously from her belt. It was implied that she would kill Mercer as soon as she laid eyes on him; she wouldn’t bring the sword if she didn’t intend to use it. What she would do with his guard dog was anyone’s guess.

....................

Siren took a slow, careful breath as she aimed at the mechanism to drop the stairs to Mercer’s house. She had resolved Vald’s debt with Maven, unwilling to kill more than she had to. She was a master thief not a murderer, after all. She had picked up a bow on the way, a pretty little hunting bow of sparks that lit the arrows on fire when it released them. She was no mage and had to rely on specialty weapons to shoot fire or ice or the like. On the exhale, she fired a flaming arrow and the staircase fell. Trading the bow for her sword, she stole into the house.

It was empty. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Part of her wanted to find Mercer and take him out cleanly and quietly and just be done with it, but the rest of her craved a fight as an outlet for all her frustrations. Since she had free reign of his place, she figured she might as well rob him blind. An eye for an eye, after all.

Okay, so his secret passage wasn’t really all the hidden. Siren made her way through it, avoiding all the traps and absconding with his plans, along with quite a few jewels, before turning to leave. A folded piece of paper caught her eye under the table and she stopped long enough to snatch it. Slipping through a door at her end of the passage, she found herself in the Ratways. Clever, clever Mercer. Pulling back into the shadows, Siren unfolded the paper she had found. She had to read it twice to make sure she was reading it right. It said:

_Mercer,_

_I want that new recruit dead by months end. She’s trouble._

_Signed, M._

Siren furrowed her brow. It had to be her; she was the newest recruit in the Guild that was female. Who was this ‘M’ person and why did they want her dead? Did Mercer have an alter ego or something? Well, he hadn’t killed her yet and he was nowhere to be found, which, in reality, did much less to comfort her than she thought. Shrugging to herself, she pocketed the note and made her way back to the Guild.


	9. I Don't Do Warnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have edited and added to chapters 5-7.

Karliah pulled her and Brynjolf to the side for a private word as soon as Siren got back. It was then that she confirmed the existence of the Nightingales and directed them to meet her at a standing stone not far from Riften. Brynjolf caught her eye and Siren shrugged. It was times like this that he envied her relaxed attitude and easy going nature. It reminded him of the second time he had found her.

-1 year 1 month ago-

Brynjolf had just finished a job and had stopped by the inn for a pint or two of mead before making the trek back to the Guild. Consequently, he was still in the Guild armor and getting evil looks from the town guards. He was used to it by now, after so many years of service and quite frankly didn’t give a damn. Removing the hood, he picked out a table in the corner where he could enjoy his mead in peace. Halfway through his second tankard, his pocket felt suspiciously light. Upon inspection, he discovered his coin purse was missing. Outraged, he began pushing himself up from the table when a laugh from behind stopped him.

“Sit down.”

He complied.

“Good boy.”

He scowled darkly.

“What? Not happy to see me?”

“No.”

“But you remember me.” An arm appeared in his peripheral vision and his purse dropped onto the table. The nameless thief slid soundlessly into the chair opposite him and pulled her own hood off. Brynjolf made a conscious effort to keep his mouth closed. The lass had flaming red hair, as in it looked like someone took the color of fire and dyed her hair to match. Her eyes looked like the sky trying to peek out from behind storm clouds, with just enough color to identify them as blue. She was smirking something fierce.

“Nice hair.”

“Thank you for noticing.”

Brynjolf took a swallow of mead and offered some to her. She shook her head and he shrugged.

“Suit yourself.”

“I don’t drink while I’m working.”

“Is that so?”

“Speaking of which, if you’ll excuse me for a moment…” She pulled her hood up and left the table, effectively disappearing. Brynjolf tried to find her, but it was like she vanished. He sipped his mead and watched for her to pop up somewhere and nearly choked on the mouthful he was attempting to swallow when she rejoined him at the table and dropped her hood. “Scared you to death, did I?”

“Hardly,” he coughed out. She raised an eyebrow to accompany her ever present smirk.

Setting a tankard on the table, she reached for the bottle and poured herself a pint. “Thank you kindly.”

“Where did you get that?” He gestured to the tankard.

“The counter, where else?”

He shook his head. Crazy lass. Just then, an argument erupted from the other side of the inn and his companion narrowed her eyes.

“We might want to head to the exit.”

“Why?”

A small platoon of guards burst in and added to the confusion. Before long, swords were drawn and being pointed at Brynjolf.

“Told you.”

“Aye, time to go, lass.”

They drew their hoods up simultaneously and took off into the crowd. They were out the doors before anyone was the wiser. Just around the corner was another group of guards and they pulled up short.

“Any more bright ideas, lass?”

“More than a few. Come on.” She pulled him into a dead end ally, ignoring the incredulous look he was giving her. She shoved his hood off, along with her own and grabbed his collar. “Play along.”

And with that, she backed up to the wall, jumped and wrapped her legs around his waist.

“What are you doing?” He threw his hands out to catch himself against the wall. She grinned devilishly at him and staring unlatching his armor. Brynjolf could see torchlight coming up on their location and was about to say as much when she claimed his lips with hers. It took him a moment to catch on and when he did, he returned the kiss as fiercely as he could, propping a thigh between her legs and supporting her with one hand under her backside. She threaded her fingers into his hair and rolled her hips into his. He shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as he was. He didn’t even know her name. This wasn’t-by the Eight what was doing with her tongue? He put a hand on her lower back and held her closer to his body. She smirked against his lips. Brat. To the guards now watching, they looked like a pair of lovers who couldn’t quite make it to a bed. She moaned against his lips and he pressed her more firmly against the wall. They were both acutely aware of the crowd gathering to watch the spectacle. She was hoping someone would make some sort of comment soon, before they resorted to removing clothes. Brynjolf started working at the fastenings to her armor when someone finally spoke up.

“Hey, get a room!”

“Have some decency!”

They separated and she blushed ferociously, adjusting her armor and smoothing her hair. He did the same, though without the blush and left his armor just skewed enough that no one could tell it belonged to the Guild. He put a hand on the small of her back as he led her through the crowd and to the outskirts of the town.

“Some warning next time would be nice, lass.”

“I don’t do warnings.”

“So I noticed.”

She turned to face him and winked, “If you’re half as good of a thief as you are a kisser, I think we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.”

“I’m beginning to think I won’t mind that.”

“Good,” she winked again, pulled her hood up and darted away, leaving him staring after her long after she disappeared.

-Present-

Brynjolf gave Siren a small, half smirk as they went their separate ways. He was heading to the standing stone and she was going for the shops to replace one of her daggers. She would meet him and Karliah there shortly, when she had taken care of business. His mind returned to being envious of her ‘roll with the punches’ style. Whether it was making out with a stranger to avoid the guards or getting stabbed in the chest by a power mad traitor, she was content to go where she was needed with a smirk and a snarky comment. He motioned for Karliah to lead the way to the standing stone, shaking his head at how, just yesterday, he was plotting all the painful ways he could kill her and now he was trusting her alone with him, for no other reason than Siren trusted her.

“She’s got talent.” Karliah said lightly.

“Aye, she does.”

“What’s her story?”

“I’m not sure. She hasn’t said much. Her parents died a while back and she has a brother somewhere.”

Karliah smacked his shoulder, “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” he chuckled and shrugged, “I don’t know her story. I don’t even know her name.”

The dark elf pulled up short, “What?”

Brynjolf kept walking. “She’s not big on sharing.”

“A thief like her has a history.”

“Aye, that she does, I’m sure. And I want to know it just as badly as you, but it took her almost a year to talk to me away from the job. She’ll tell her story in her own time.”

“How long have you known her?”

“Going on two years.”

“And you don’t know her name?”

Brynjolf stopped and faced Karliah, “I know it sounds crazy, believe me lass. But it works for us and I’ll wait until she thinks I need to know. She doesn’t trust anyone farther than she can throw them and I’ve spent the last year trying to show her not everyone is all bad. Whatever she’s been through, it’s been hell. Maybe she just wants to get away from it. If that’s the case, I don’t want to run her off by making her dredge it up.”

“I see.”

The pair walked in silence for a while. By the time Karliah spoke again, they were well out of the city and Brynjolf could see the standing stone.

“She would make a fine Guild Master.”

“Aye, she would. If she would accept it.”

 They fell silent again, each lost in their own thoughts. Brynjolf recalled one instance with Siren that he wouldn’t forget anytime soon....


	10. Shadow Calls to Shadow

-6 months ago-

Solitude was celebrating the return of the High King’s crown and the getting was good for a thief passing through, much like Brynjolf. His mind was still stuck on the last time he saw the red haired lass and he wondered when he would see her again. He figured today was as good of an opportunity as any, since the whole of Skyrim’s rich and powerful were having their fill of expensive mead and treats. He smoothed the front of his tunic and threaded his way through the crowds, lightening a few coin purses on his way. Heading in the direction of music, he snagged a rather expensive jeweled necklace. What he found when he got there was something he never dreamed he would see. His red haired lass was _dancing_ , in a beautiful red and gold dress. Her eyes sparkled like he’d never seen before. He grinned at her, wondering if he would catch her eye in the crowd.

Of course she would see him.

She caught his hand and pulled him with her in a spin before releasing him with a flourish and a wink. Laughing, he folded himself back into the crowd. Then he realized his pocket was lighter. Still chuckling, he shook his head, unable to be upset with her. She looked so damn young, much younger than the bonnie lass that had stolen a kiss hardly a month ago. But it was her, no doubt. No one else had hair quite like hers.

-Present-

Siren crept around the pair at the standing stone, watching them. She could hear them talking before she saw them, but was too far away to make out what they were saying. Her gut told her they were talking about her, but they had fallen silent before she was close enough to catch the words. She was standing behind them now and they still had yet to see her. Without a sound, Siren leapt forward and tackled Brynjolf to the ground. He managed a startled half shout before she had him pinned and was grinning down at him.

“I could have killed you, lass,” he sputtered when he saw the bright red hair.

“But you didn’t,” she fired back as she released him and offered a hand to help him up. He took it and let the slim redhead pull him back to his feet. Karliah snickered behind them and Siren threw her a wink.

Silence hung heavy between them as they picked their way through the cavern, broken only by Karliah’s explaining the history of the Nightingales. Brynjolf was speaking now and a knot was forming in Siren’s gut. Something about this was going to go very wrong. She glanced back at the Nord and he smiled. She forced herself to return it before facing forward again. Karliah was saying something about putting on armor for a ceremony. Siren hung back.

“I sense you are hesitant to put on your Nightingale armor.” The elf said simply.

“I don’t trust anything I didn’t make myself, especially not anything from a daedra.” The red head absently rubbed her shoulder when the phantom pain flared. The last time she had accepted armor from someone she had nearly lost an arm.

“I assure you it is of good quality. Though you are only required to wear it until the ceremony is complete,” Karliah said dismissively before walking up to a pedestal and retrieving a set of dark colored armor.

Brynjolf stood in front of a second pedestal and watched the two women in confusion. It made sense that the elf had little problem with the whole thing, but Siren was never this cagey about anything. She had also accepted the Guild armor from him without a problem. He made a mental note to ask her about it later. She rolled her shoulders before making her way up the stairs to the only unused podium and palmed the rune on the front. Brynjolf followed suit and examined the armor closely. It was made of a strange material, flexible and strong, seeming to melt into his shadow on the floor. He removed his Guild armor and started pulling the new set on piece by piece. It fit him like a second skin and he stretched experimentally, trying to find the weak spots. If there were any, he couldn’t find them. He could do without the cape, but other than that, he could definitely live with it. Flexing his fingers, he turned back to Siren who was crouched on the ground adjusting one of her boots. She stood slowly and was silhouetted by the wall sconce. Brynjolf couldn’t stop himself from staring. Siren tugged on one of the gloves and wiggled her fingers, looking completely surreal; a shadow thief of legend, the very thing people lock their doors and windows against at night. He was grateful the mask hid his face when she turned to look at him. She wouldn’t like the way his mouth hung open. Her eyes were bright points nestled between the hood and the mask, seeming almost to glow faintly silver. The armor molded to her lithe form perfectly and it sent a shiver down his spine. The shape of her eyes changed, signaling that she was making some sort of facial expression. He raised an eyebrow back before he realized that she couldn’t see it.

“If you are ready to proceed, follow me,” Karliah said. Siren nodded and shadowed Brynjolf to an iron gate. The elf pulled the chain and directed them to round platforms branching off of the larger circle they were already standing on. Siren bit the inside of her cheek as she took her place on the far left. She watched Brynjolf go to the far right and Karliah go the center. The elf started to call upon Nocturnal and Siren clenched her hands at her sides. I should run. I really should run. Why am I not running?

The daedra started speaking and Siren forced herself to listen carefully. Whatever she was getting into was going to have some sort of stipulation and she wanted to be sure she knew what it was.

All in all, it wasn’t anything too horrid. Aside from the whole selling her soul to a daedra part. Just when she thought it was over, she had the uncomfortable feeling that she had become the center of attention. She fought the urge to take a step back.

_“Calm yourself, child. I don’t bite. Much.”_

“Right. Because that’s what I’m worried about.”

_Nocturnal chuckled, “You have had my favor for some time. Did you really think you were successful for so long without help? Watching you steal that which Skyrim holds most dear was quite fun.”_

Siren smirked, “Glad you enjoyed the show.”

_“The Nightingale with the sweetest song is the hardest to find, but shadow calls to shadow, silence to silence. It was only a matter of time before you came to me.”_

“You have my soul. If there’s nothing else, I have a schedule to keep.”

_“No, you have already given all that is required. A word of caution: the flame that burns the brightest burns the shortest. You are of more use to me alive, Nightingale. Remember that.”_

And with that, the mortals were left alone in the room once more. They met in the center and Siren once again found herself the center of attention and she rolled her eyes.

“Does that happen often?” She asked the elf.

“No, I’ve never heard of that before.”

“I guess I’m just special, then.”

“I’ll look into it, in any case. Now, to deal with Mercer. It’s time I reveal the true nature of his crimes.”

Karliah continued to talk but Brynjolf had stopped listening after she mentioned the Skeleton Key. The daedra’s words left a cold echo in his mind. Nocturnal had said a few things that made him wonder who his Siren really was. She was the best thief anyone at the Guild had seen in many a winter, of that there wasn’t a doubt. But Lady Luck had said she’s stolen what Skyrim holds most dear. There were only a few things that could mean, and regardless of which one it was, they had all been swiped by the same person a few years back. And that implied that the red head was the mysterious Thief with a Thousand Names. But that was preposterous. She was so young. Wasn’t she? Brynjolf really couldn’t hope to guess how old she was any more than he could guess her given name. Looking carefully at her now, clad in the Nightingale armor, it was easy to see her as the thief of legend. The second part of Nocturnal’s warning finally clicked in his head and he took a step closer to her. Siren’s eyes shifted over to him before flitting back to Karliah. _The flame that burns the brightest burns the shortest._ It was sinister and foreboding and chilling. It was a well-known fact that the daedra got their kicks yanking the mortals around, but this didn’t feel like mockery. It felt cautionary. Was his Siren’s death fast approaching, and if it was, could it be stopped?


	11. Something on Your Mind

“Remind me again, lass, why are we going to Winterhold?” Brynjolf asked. He was watching Siren pack a small bag of odd items from her trunk in the cistern.

“I have a friend there who I think can help us.”

“And how exactly are you going to explain our situation to your friend?”

“That’s the best part. I won’t have to,” Siren looked over her shoulder at him and the shape of her eyes changed. He guessed she was smiling. For some reason, she had grown attached to the Nightingale armor and had yet to take it off. He figured she would have shucked it without a second thought, but something had changed and she had kept it. Not that he really minded. He thought it suited her better than the Guild armor. Karliah was standing behind them, thumbing through an old text, trying to find out more about Nocturnal’s odd warning to Siren. If the red head was at all concerned, she didn’t show it. Brynjolf was still on edge from it and he was fairly certain he would worry himself sick about it until they had some sort of answer.

“And why is that?” He said wearily.

“Well, aren’t we inquisitive today?”

“This is a touchy thing, lass. The fewer people that know, I think, the better.”

She turned toward him and sighed, “I know, Bryn, believe me. He’s an old family friend. I trust him with my life.”

That in and of itself was enough to put him at ease. “Alright, lass, if you’re sure.”

She reached for one of his hands and squeezed it. “Karliah, do you still have that poison arrow you hit me with?”

The elf looked up from her reading, startled, and replied, “I do.”

“Good. Bring it.”

Blinking, she closed the book and checked her bag. Finding it where she had left it, she straightened and nodded. Siren motioned them to follow her out as she picked up her own bag. Brynjolf shifted his on his shoulder and trailed behind the two women. They made their way out of the sewers and the city to the carriage that always waited by the stables. They specified their destination and took their seats. Two other people got on and they were off. Brynjolf was dying to ask Siren the mountain of questions that their journey had brought up, but he wouldn’t risk it with strangers so close. It was hard enough getting her to open up to him when they were alone; he knew the chances were slim with Karliah present and virtually nonexistent with others close enough to hear. So he settled in for the long ride to Winterhold in silence.

He had to shake Siren awake when they finally arrived. It had nearly cost him a few fingers, which she kept apologizing for and he just laughed. A sleeping thief was a dangerous thief, after all. It was well into the night as they trekked into the snowy town and Karliah went straight to the inn.

“I haven’t been able to sleep for days. A soft bed and hot meal will do me some good,” she said wearily.

“Get some rest. We’ll find you in the morning, unless you’re staying too?” Siren directed at Brynjolf.

“No, I’ll go with you lass.”

She nodded and they bid farewell to their companion. They walked in silence for a while before she stopped and turned to him, “Spit it out.”

“Eh?”

“There’s something on your mind.”

“There’s quite a bit on my mind.”

“Well, then relieve some of it.”

“I’ll need your help, lass.”

She blinked under the hood and nodded slowly, “I saw this coming. What do you want to ask?”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but what in the bloody hell is your story, lass? I thought I had enough of a handle on you not to care if you didn’t. We’ve been through a lot since you joined the Guild and I’m curious. We’ve been taking your skills for granted. But where did they come from? Who are you?”

She took a deep breath brought her eyes to his, “If I tell you, I will kill you if anyone else hears about it. I left that life behind me for a reason. I’m not running from someone or anything dramatic like that. But I became a nameless thief for a reason and I’d like to stay that way.”

“I understand.”

Siren looked for any signs of deceit as best she could with his mask obscuring his face. She knew him well enough to know his tells by now. There was nothing malicious in his eyes, only a genuine curiosity mixed with honesty. She sighed and tried to figure out the best way to start a story like this. Just when she thought she had it, a shadow caught her eye. Her body reflexively tightened and she tried to trace the figure’s path. Brynjolf caught the slight change in her demeanor and turned to see what caused it. He couldn’t pick anything out of the darkness, but he knew something had drawn her attention. Without a sound, she slipped past him and to the last place she had seen whatever it was. He followed carefully. Siren was getting an uneasy feeling. She knew this path well, so well that she could walk it in her sleep without faltering. She could feel Brynjolf behind her and wasn’t sure she wanted him there, but refused to ruin the silence and say something. A shadow shifted and Brynjolf made a slight gesture in her peripheral vision and she gave a small nod. He had seen it. Without warning, she jumped up and grabbed the edge of a banisher belonging to what used to be a small, two story house before it was converted to a shop on the lower floor. She easily pulled herself the rest of the way up and then onto the roof. Not bothering to wait to see if Brynjolf was following, she took off across the roof and dropped onto the balcony of the house next door. There was a window that was always unlocked and she slipped into it. There was a light burning in the bedroom down the hall and that’s where she went. She palmed her favorite ebony dagger and slowly opened the door.


	12. Family Ties

Brynjolf knew he had little hope of following her quickly _and_ quietly. The way she could move without ever making a sound had always impressed him. He could recall one instance where she had pulled a move nearly identical to the one she had just done.

-1 year ago-

“You sure you can keep up?”

“You sure I won’t leave you in the dust?”

She smirked at him from under her hood and he returned it easily. They were both in good spirits after sharing a few pints of mead at the Bannered Mare. She had found Brynjolf in a corner table and instead of swiping his coin purse as she had previously; she set a fresh tankard of mead in front of him before taking the seat opposite his. Their conversation had drifted to work, since it was the only thing they knew they had in common, and that turned into a friendly wager about who could steal the prized sword from the display at the War Maiden’s.

The pair were standing outside and watching the flickering fire light through the ground floor doors. Both the owners were in the main room, where the mark happened to be exhibited. Brynjolf was set to wait them out and break in after they had gone to bed by using the rarely locked side door. He turned to his female companion only to see her soundlessly leap up and take hold of the edge of the roof and hoist herself up. She waved at him before disappearing farther up it. He went back to the crack in the door and watched for her. After a moment, he saw her at the top of the stairs. In one fluid motion, she was down the stairs and behind the counter. Ulfberth and Adrianne didn’t seem to notice the flitting shadow. Brynjolf wouldn’t have noticed it himself had he not been looking. This was the first time he had seen her on the job and he was very impressed. The Guild could use a thief like her, if he could ever broach the subject before she ran off again. She was hidden behind the counter now and he couldn’t see her from where he was, but it also meant that the other two couldn’t either. Suddenly, the lid of the display case lifted slightly and closed again. Another shadow darted to the side door and he moved toward it. His red head companion grinned at him from where she was leaning against the wall.

“Well, where is it, lass?”

“I left it there.”

“Why would you do that?”

She shrugged, “I wasn’t paid to steal it and didn’t feel like carrying it. Maybe next time.”

He shook his head at her and she winked before disappearing around the corner.

-Present-

Brynjolf knew that they had found a note resting on the blade the next morning that had said _maybe next time_ and he hadn’t paid much mind to it at the time. He’s thought it was just her being, well, her. Come to think of it, that was the same night that the Jarl’s family sword turned up missing with nothing but a name and a nightshade bloom in its place. It had been returned a fortnight later, sharpened, carefully wrapped and left outside of Dragonsreach. Now, he knew it was more of a coincidence that she had left the blade from War Maiden’s behind. He kicked himself for not seeing it sooner. Brynjolf forced himself to focus as he had just made it to the balcony of the house that he had seen Siren slip into. He’d skipped the whole roof bit in favor of using the stairs. He was just about to pick the lock of the closest window when there was an earsplitting scream.

Was it Siren? He couldn’t tell. He’d never heard her scream. Hell, he’d never heard her raise her voice above a normal speaking volume. Something was very wrong. Not bothering with stealth anymore, Brynjolf moved to break the window. It fell open without much effort or breaking glass. He didn’t stop to think on it, instead launching himself through it and sliding a blade into each of his hands, one a dagger and the other his sword. At the end of the hall, there was an open door with light spilling from it. Brynjolf could just make out a shadow with a cape by the door frame and he chanced calling out to Siren.

“Lass?”

All he got for an answer was the caped shadow falling to the ground. His heart dropped to his feet as he surged forward, Nocturnal’s words ringing in his head. If something happened to her because he let her run off, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. What he could live with, however, was taking the head of the bastard that dared to do her harm. Brynjolf pushed the door the rest of the way open and choked on his next breath. What he saw was not what he had expected.

-Moments Before-

Siren took a steadying breath as she pushed open the window. She had busted the latch on it years ago while practicing picking the lock. Very few homes in Skyrim had windows, but the ones that did rarely paid them much mind, which made them good for quick ins and outs when they were left unlocked. Otherwise, they were pain, albeit an occasionally necessary pain. She was glad she never got around to fixing it, and gladder still that her brother never really cared to either. Speaking of the man, it had better be him burning the midnight oil, or this was going to going to get messy. On the off chance she wouldn’t find him in their own home, she slid her long-favored ebony dagger from her sleeve. It was on old thing, well-worn and lackluster. It was the first weapon she had paid for herself, using money she had procured using her unique talents. She had much newer and nicer ones now, but she couldn’t bring herself to part with it. Siren was glad for the familiar weight of it as she inched the door open.

Caldor was standing over the old oak desk with a half empty bottle dangling from one hand. He swung his head toward the door when he noticed it move from the corner of his eye and brandished the alcohol like a weapon.

“Get back, I sssssay, you cr-cr-criminal,” he slurred.

Siren sheathed the dagger and pulled the hood and mask off, “Easy there, quick draw. It’s just me.”

He glared, but took another swig from the bottle instead of using it as a weapon. She shook her head and folded her arms. He deserved a damn good tongue lashing, one that would make their father proud, and she was in the mind to give it to him until she saw someone in the corner. The blood drained from her face as the blonde haired assassin stepped forward and drew his blade across her brother’s throat. Siren couldn’t contain the scream that was torn from her lips as she watched her elder sibling’s face go from a drunken stupor to shock before his body slipped to the floor. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Caldor was lying in a pool of his blood at her feet and his killer was watching the light leave his eyes not five feet in front of her, yet she could nothing but stare. She couldn’t quite wrap her mind around what her eyes were seeing and everything seemed to slow down. Brynjolf’s voice behind her forced the air back into her lungs and her legs gave way, depositing her on the floor. The door opened the rest of the way and she moved forward to avoid being hit by it, choosing to crawl to her brother’s side. The assassin sheathed his dagger and bowed his head in prayer. Brynjolf stood stalk still in the doorway, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. He had the distinct feeling that he had come in at a bad time.

Her mind finally caught up with the situation and rage flooded her senses, making her blood boil. In one fluid motion, Siren drew her favored dagger and launched it at the assassin. “How dare you,” she choked back a sob, “how dare you slit his throat and then ask forgiveness of your gods.”

He had moved just seconds before and the weapon stuck in the wall where his head had been. He looked down at her calmly, “It was not myself that I was praying for. I realized long ago that there is no forgiveness for people of my profession.”

“Save your charity, murderer!” Siren launched herself over Caldor’s body and tackled the assassin to the ground. She drew another dagger and struggled against his grip to plunge it into his chest. After a tense moment where Brynjolf hardly dared to breathe, the assassin knocked the blade away and shoved Siren to the side.

“You do not need to die, child. Do not add a senseless death to this tragedy.”

“Don’t you try to justify what you did.”

 He paused to consider her before continuing, “Do you know what this man has done?”

Siren expelled a breadth, “Of course I do.”

“And you still think he had a right to live?”

“He was my brother.”

Brynjolf was about to speak up until she said that. The dead man was Caldor. Caldor was her brother. He was the same man that had tried to rough her up in Whiterun. What in all of Skyrim was going on here?

The assassin’s dark eyes widened as an understanding dawned, “The contract said this man had no family; that they all died when he burned down their home.”

“Our parents died in that fire, but he didn’t start it. He was with me that night, down past the city walls. We were out looking for rabbits in the woods when we saw the smoke.”

He pursed his lips and stayed silent. It was rare that the Dark Brotherhood was misinformed about a mark and rarer still for him not pick it out and make the necessary adjustments. And even then, it was only minor inconsistencies; nothing like this. He had seen the woman in front of him with the mark one time and it had been in passing many months ago. They hadn’t seemed like siblings then. Maybe he should have been more attentive or waited just one more day. It was true that he had no way of knowing that she would come through the door at the perfectly wrong moment, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he could have done something to avoid this.

Brynjolf stepped forward and pulled Siren off the floor and away from Caldor. She was shaking against him. He leveled his sword at the assassin, intent on killing him, until Siren spoke up, “We’re going to alert the guards. I suggest you leave before we return.”

She placed a gentle hand on Brynjolf’s arm and shook her head once. He exhaled slowly and sheathed his blade before following her out of the room. The assassin watched them leave in stunned silence. She had spared him when every social standard demand she end his life. He had fought against her once on principle, but had she chosen to try again, knowing what he knew now, he wouldn’t have stopped her. Had she been afraid for her life, or that of her friend? Maybe she saw something in him worth saving. On his way out of the building, he vowed to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long delay, so here's a longer chapter. Hope it's still a good read!


	13. Names and Games

The guards had come and gone, the blood scrubbed from the floor and the door to that room barred shut. Brynjolf had gone to the inn to fetch mead and something to eat, though Siren just pushed hers around on the plate. After a few minutes, he took the plate away and gently lifted her chin so she would look at him. While he was out, she had started a fire, taken off her armor and replaced it with more comfortable fur lined clothes. She had offered him an old spare set of warm clothes which he had yet to put on. When her eyes finally met his, they were dull and far away. He pulled her away from the table and over to a chair by the fire. Brynjolf sat down first and motioned for her to sit in his lap. She silently complied.

“What can I do, lass?”

She sighed, “You can’t undo the past, Bryn.”

“The past isn’t what I’m worried about. I want to know what I can do for you now.”

Siren turned to look at him and bit her lip nervously. “Caldor was gone long before he died today. You saw how he was in Whiterun. He wasn’t always like that. He really changed after Mom and Dad died. I always knew that one day everything would catch up with him. I just never thought I’d watch it bring him down.”

Brynjolf shifted and tightened his hold on her thin waist. She cuddled closer to him and let the silence stretch. He was in no rush for her to speak, instead content to let her decide what, and when, to share.

After a moment she piped up, “It just doesn’t feel real yet, like I’m going to find him drunk on the street somewhere in a fortnight.”

“I’m sorry, lass.”

“I never should have let him fall so far. I should have done something to stop him.”

Brynjolf pressed his lips to the top of her head. “Sometimes there’s nothing to be done. We choose our own path, good or bad, despite what people tell us. I don’t know much about your brother, but I don’t think he would have listened.”

Siren pushed against his chest until he relaxed his grip enough for her to sit up. Her eyes met his and held them as the silence wrapped around them again. Something passed behind hers and she gave a sigh he felt more than heard.

“Korina.”

“Who’s that, lass?”

“Me. That’s my name.”

“Suits you,” was all he could think to say. He hadn’t been expecting her to open up like this and figured it best to say very little until he had time to process the flood of emotions today had wrought.

“My mother trained me to be a thief. She used to say that she was the best damned pick pocket in all of Skyrim, and she’d challenge anyone who said otherwise.”

“Aye, she could swipe your undershirt without moving your armor.”

Korina abruptly sat up straight, “How did you know that?”

“Everyone in the Guild knew that.”

“You knew my mother?”

Brynjolf’s mouth hung open as his mind caught up with his words. “Your mother…was Celica?”

“Yes!”

“By the Eight, lass…She was the last truly great pickpocket the Guild had until you showed up.”

Korina shook her head and expelled a breadth, “She always told me to stay away from the Guild.”

“Why?”

“She never really gave me a reason.”

Brynjolf hummed thoughtfully as silence once again took over. She shimmied off of his lap to add another log to the dimming fire. When she didn’t immediately return, he stood and began removing his armor. Korina was watching the flames when he took a place next to her, clad in the fur clothes. He left the tunic open at his chest and belted it loosely around his waist.

“Korina?”

The left side of her mouth twitched up in a smile, “Yes, Bryn?”

“How did you think up a thousand different names?”

“The hardest part was keeping track of ones I’d already used.”

“So, you really are the Thief With a Thousand Names?”

“The one and many.”

He gave a low whistle, “How’d you do it all?”

“I’ll tell you some other time. Over drinks, maybe?”

“Fair enough, lass.”

Just then the door to the house burst open. Both of them spun and palmed a dagger as a cloaked figure bustled in and shut the door.

“Oh, dear, please tell me it’s not true!” A high elf threw back the hood of his cloak and Korina dropped the dagger to run to him.

“Tarrek!”

“Ah, you’re touching me.”

“Sorry, bad day.” She stepped back and folded her arms over her chest.

“So, it was Caldor?”

She nodded mutely.

“Oh, my. I’m deeply sorry, Ko-who are you?” The high elf peered around Korina to Brynjolf.

“Tarrek, this is Brynjolf. He’s a good friend, don’t worry.”

“And a thief.”

“That, too.”

Tarrek harrumphed and started bustling around the living room. Brynjolf looked to Korina for any kind of feedback on their guest and she gave a slight nod. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for him to relax.

“You look thin. Have you been eating?” Tarrek called over his shoulder.

Korina sighed, “I’m fine, mom.”

He glared, annoyed, before turning his attention back to a chest on the far side of the room. Brynjolf tightened the clothes around himself and took a tentative seat by the fire. Korina moved to stand closer to him, still watching the elf dig around in the chest.

“How deep is he in this?” He asked, clearly referring to Brynjolf.

“Very.” Brynjolf looked to Korina and raised an eyebrow. She gave him a small smile, but offered no explanation.

“I see. What brought you back here?”

“Work,” she answered with a shrug.

“Work is what brings you just about everywhere. But this isn’t just work and don’t try to tell me it is. You’re with the Guild now, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“You know your mother would be very upset.”

“I was kinda hoping she might understand,” she glanced back at Brynjolf.

“There are very few things she wouldn’t understand about you, or your motives.” He seemed to find what he was looking for in the trunk and joined them by the fire, refusing the seat she offered. “She had good reasons for telling you to stay away from there.”

“Pity she never saw fit to share them with me,” Korina gave Tarrek a pointed look.

The old elf rolled his eye and huffed, “I’ll tell you when you need to know.”

“Since I’m in the Guild now, I think it’s well past when I needed to know.”

“Why are two talented Guild members so far from home, anyway? At least I’m assuming your friend is fairly skilled to be out with you.” He said, artfully changing the subject. Korina glared, but allowed herself to be lead away from the previous topic.

“That’s Guild business. And yes, he’s plenty skilled. Mom taught him a few things.”

“I never said anything about that, lass.” Brynjolf said.

“You never had to. I could tell by the way you talked about her.” She said dismissively. “Besides, you take necklaces the same way she did.”

“What business does the Guild have in my neck of the woods?” Tarrek pressed.

Korina narrowed her eyes at him, “What kind of business do you think we have?”

“Ah, think you can beat me at my own game? Have you forgotten after so much time away? Or have you merely gotten cocky?”

“Figure it out,” she challenged.

“Lass, what are you doing?” Brynjolf asked nervously. He got no answer as the red head and elf stared each other down.

“Whatever it is, it’s not thieving otherwise you’d be at the inn staying under a fake name.”

“Too easy, old man. One point.”

“It’s not official Guild business. Neither of you are in the Guild armor.”

“Two points.”

“You’re not staying in Winterhold long. Your bag is readied for a much longer journey and it’s packed with goods from Riften, so you’re not here for a restock trip.”

“Four points.”

“What I can’t figure out is why you stopped here at all. You haven’t been home in years.”

Korina shook her head, “This was never home.”

“My point still stands.”

“Fair enough. You still need one more.”

Tarrek touched the tips of his fingers to his chin, “You two are romantically involved.”

“That was cheap.”

The elf shrugged.

“Fine. Five points.”

“Now, you tell me something I don’t know.”

“We stopped here to see you. I have an associate at the inn that is very skilled with poisons. During a fight, I took a poisoned arrow meant for someone else. My associate was a bit put off that it had been wasted. We still have the arrow and I know how you love a challenge.”

“Yes, just bring it by the College and I’ll have it done first thing.”

“We’ll have it to you before we leave tomorrow.”

“Your associate is a thief as well.” Tarrek continued.

“One point.”

Brynjolf looked between the two of them, befuddled. This was clearly an old way of exchanging information between them, but he was lost as to its ultimate purpose. They kept going, paying him little mind.

“You think I know this person, otherwise you would have specified gender.”

“Two points.”

“This person is a woman.”

“Three points.”

“She is a dark elf.”

“Four points.”

“Karliah.”

“Damn it. Five.”

“What in all of Oblivion are you doing with her? And why did she shoot you with a poisoned arrow?”

Korina sighed and shifted her attention to the fire. After a moment of silence, she turned back to Tarrek, “She didn’t kill Gallus.”

“I know.”

“Long story short, I ended up in the middle of one hell of a mess with her. We’re helping each other out of it.”

“How did you know she didn’t kill him?” Brynjolf asked the high elf.

Tarrek just quirked a half smile in response before addressing the girl, “But why did she shoot you, Korina?”

“It was the lesser of two evils.”

“You’re being vague. What are you trying to hide?”

“You don’t have enough points to ask that,” she responded with a smirk.

He barked out a short laugh, “You’ve gotten better.” He turned to Brynjolf, “Are you the same gutter rat Celica took a liking to?”

Brynjolf folded his arms over his chest, “Aye, I was her and Gallus’ pet project. They saw a good use for my silver tongue.”

“Yes, I know.” His eyes narrowed as his posture changed, “Have you been using your silver tongue to try and con my girl?” Electricity crackled along his fingertips as he raised his hands.

“Tarrek.” Korina warned.

The display was unsettling, but Brynjolf didn’t back down, knowing full well he had nothing to hide from the elf. Not to mention he knew Sir-Korina would waste no time in retaliation if her friend acted too rashly. So he fixed him with a solid stare and replied, “No.”

“It was I that started it, Tarrek. He hated me when we first met.”

“Aye, it’s true.”

Tarrek let the sparks in hands die and said dismissively, “That I don’t doubt.” He turned back to the fire and let silence take over, effectively dropping the issue.

Brynjolf looked between the two of them while they both watched the flames scorch the wood in the fireplace. The elf looked thoughtfully at the smoke curling towards the ceiling. Korina looked as if she wanted to throw herself into the fire. Brynjolf eyed the aging elf warily. His stance showed he was confident and self-assured, unafraid of anything either thief could do to him. He seemed completely engrossed in his own thoughts, but Brynjolf knew better, having adopted the same look himself more than once trying to goad would be thieves into sticking their hands in his pockets. No, the mage was acutely aware of everything around him and content to let it play out in silence for the time being. Brynjolf wondered at his relationship with Korina, noticing their easy banter and unguarded mannerisms. He found himself unjustly jealous of whatever they shared. Up until this point, he had believed himself the only person still living that knew so many of her secrets and was more than a little put off to find that he was wrong. Clearly the elf was a part of the past she tried so hard to leave behind, so why had he made it when her own brother had been shut out? His mind conjured up a good number of reasons ranging from Tarrek being her father to a previous romance she couldn’t get over to nothing more than a lucrative business partner.

As if sensing his agitation, Korina spoke up, “I know I have some things to explain. I will, Bryn, I just need time. Tonight was,” she sighed heavily, “more than I bargained for.”

For the first time since he’d met her, Brynjolf could see the woman who made the thief. There was so much more to her than her skills for larceny. She was an orphan trying to distance herself from the past and the loneliness it held. She was a young woman who had seen too much for the decades she had behind her. Korina was stuck between acting her age and acting from her experience. Her face was young but her eyes were old. Behind the snarky comments and smirk was desperation to let someone else get close and fear of what would happen if anyone did. All the time he had spent with her, he’d felt like he was looking at her through a prism, seeing a distorted picture of her and every time he’d twist it trying to get a better look, the part of her he thought he’d figured out would change and he would be back in square one. It was then that he realized that she didn’t do it on purpose. It was an unconscious defense she had developed some time before he met her. Now that something had finally shattered that resistance, it was like seeing her for the first time, all the pieces where they were supposed to be and perfectly exposed to everyone. It was both beautiful and terrifying and it made his heart ache.

“It’s alright, lass. You can tell me when you’re ready,” he said softly.

Korina still didn’t look at him, but he could see her shoulders slump forward in relief. Tarrek nodded and smiled to himself as Brynjolf put a gentle arm around Korina’s shoulders. She rested her head against him and sighed wearily.

“Why don’t you go rest? It’s been a long day, and tomorrow will be longer if you don’t get some sleep,” he said softly.

Korina grumbled a halfhearted protest. Today had been draining, both physically and emotionally, and she wanted nothing more than the peaceful oblivion of sleep; whether or not sleep would welcome her had yet to be determined.

“Come on, lass. Let’s get you in bed,” Brynjolf prodded gently.

She nodded and led him to her old bedroom; up the stairs and to the left, it was the only room to that side and it was tucked into a shadowed corner. He grinned in spite of himself. The layout of her room was exactly what he expected of a master thief. The bed was facing the door and the chest was between it and the wall, ensuring that the occupant of the bed would wake if someone tried to get into it. The nightstand appeared rather unremarkable at first glance, with nothing but a lantern on its surface. But Brynjolf knew that it had a false back where any and all valuables would be kept, the chest nothing but a decoy meant to lure a would be robber into danger. There was a wardrobe that undoubtedly held clothes and nothing else, since there was little one could do to alter a wardrobe, aside from making the back door, as was becoming an increasingly popular practice in Skyrim.

“I’ll be downstairs for a while, if you need me.”

Korina nodded again as she dropped herself heavily onto her bed. “Hey, Bryn?” She said as he turned to leave.

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

He smiled softly at her and bent to kiss her forehead before leaving her room.


End file.
